


The Olitiau

by Pippins_Mushr00ms



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anxiety, Caves, Hurt/Comfort, Monster of the Week, Olitiau, Panic, Roach is a good girl, Spelunking, Wandering around in the dark, concussed!geralt is soft!geralt, jaskier is a tough cookie too, the boys get banged up and have to walk it off, they're sweeties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23927959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pippins_Mushr00ms/pseuds/Pippins_Mushr00ms
Summary: A contract gone... well, about as normal as it can get. The hunt for the Olitiau just got a little more complicated.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 17
Kudos: 118





	1. Chapter 1

The mountain air was fresh and clean as the pair of travelers made their way slowly, but steadily upward on the mountain slope. The terrain was just starting to get a bit precarious for Roach to have a rider, and the sky was heading towards twilight. The brightest stars were just beginning to twinkle ahead of them. It looked like it would be a restless night on the rocky ground for them tonight.

"So, Geralt, _what_ did you say this delightful nightmare fuel was called again?" Jaskier asked, not looking up from the leather bound, softcover book he was scratching away in.

"An Olitiau," he grunted from atop the horse. "That's what it sounded like to me, anyway. It could be an Ahool, but it's not the right habitat here. Too cold. Must be an Olitiau."

The witcher was always mildly impressed with the way the bard could walk the bumpy road and write so neatly. When he was finished jotting in his shorthand, he put the pencil to his lips and tapped thoughtfully.

"The alderma- sorry, woman- Said it carried off cattle and left not a track. How big do you think a flying monster has to be to carry off an _entire_ cow?" The bard mused.

"Big," Geralt grunted, stopping Roach.

" _'Big'_ , got it," Jaskier said dryly, very obviously writing the word down. He put the pencil in the book and snapped the cover shut with a smirk.

The witcher rolled his eyes and dismounted. He flipped the reins around the horse's head to lead her on. He'd have to tie her off at the next level spot they found. He clicked his tongue and nudged her on. She huffed, but moved. They plodded on, through the last fading rays of sun onto steadily steeper slopes.

Not long after, Geralt heard Jaskier stumble behind him. He stopped Roach and waited for the human to catch up. He handed the panting bard the reins.

"Stay," the witcher said, looking pointedly at the mare, then to Jaskier.

"Wha-?"

I'm going to go look around and see if I can find us some shelter. We don't want to be out here if the storm breaks," Geralt nodded at the direction they came, over the bard's shoulder.

"What? What storm? The sky was clear as crystal all day and… oh," Jaskier trailed off as he turned to look up.

Indeed, the evening sky had turned an odd, light grey with clouds behind them. They'd rolled in silently, but now a faint rumble could be heard.

"Fantastic," Jaskier groaned.

"I'll be back, I think I see something over there," Geralt assured him.

Still annoyed, Jaskier nodded.

The bard didn't have long to be annoyed, however. Geralt prowled around until he found a large opening into the mountain. It was nearly perfect. He glanced around the entrance for signs of life, and finding no tracks, whistled absently for Roach.

He smirked when he heard Jaskier sputter as she apparently dragged him along.

* * *

They made camp. The cave, somehow, was large enough to accommodate Roach, who was tethered loosely near the entrance, munching in her feed bag. She hadn't wanted to come in (and "caves are no places for horses, I know, girl, but you dont want to stand out in the rain all night, do you?" Geralt coaxed her gently.)

The witcher and the bard were set further back, out of horse hoof range. It wasn't a very wide cave, but it was deep, so there was plenty of room. They sat on their bed rolls with a small fire for light. The torch in the saddlebag, they elected to save.

"How far back do you think this cave goes?" asked Jaskier, turning back to squint at the dark behind them. His lute lay unused on his lap, while Geralt had a sword across his knees. He had yet to remove his armor.

"Hmm," came a noncommittal hum. Then the sound of stone on metal and a sharp scent on the air.

The witcher was thinking about when he found the possessed tree the last time he was in a cave. He didn't want to explore and didn't care how far back the cave went. As long as there was no signs of life, no odd smells, it was adequate shelter and that was it. Come morning, they were out of here.

He pressed down a little harder with the whetstone.

"We should explore," Jaskier mused, strumming a chord. "The Tale of the Neverending--"

"No," Geralt cut him off.

"What?"

"We stay here," the witcher said, staring at him. "No exploring."

"What? Why?" Jaskier looked surprised..

"Because it's unnecessarily dangerous," Geralt grumped.

"Oh, hell, the great White Wolf is afraid of a little cave," Jaskier teased.

It was the witcher's turn to be confused.

"What? No. Sometimes things just… live in them."

"One, ew. Two, you said there were no tracks anywhere around here. Three, (Jaskier set the lute aside now and grabbed his book and pencil) what else lives in caves?"

Geralt's brow furrowed deeper. He applied his focus back to his blade, eyeing the edge closely before putting it away in its sheath.

"I--"

Unfortunately, it was then that a far off screech rang out, even at a distance, that made their ears ring. Geralt twitched violently, Jaskier clutched his chest and nearly screamed, Roach whinnied.

When they recovered their senses, the pair looked at each other.

"What the hell was that?" asked Jaskier. He paled when the screech came again.

"It sounds like our monster," Geralt answered, standing up. "I'll go have a look."

The witcher strapped the swords to his back and then turned to root through the saddlebags next to him. He withdrew three small glass vials and stowed them under his armor.

"Stay here," he said to the bard, knowing it was about 50/50 the idiot followed his directions this time.

Geralt walked toward the entrance, throwing a subtle Ard sign at Roach, who calmed instantly.

The second he was out of sight, the idiot got up and followed him, daggers in hand.

* * *

Sure enough, from out of mountain and rising into the indigo sky, was a giant… something. Geralt squinted. The full moon granted him enough light to see crimson, membranous wings against a black body. The thing's head was massive, jaws wide as it let out another high pitched shriek.

The witcher had never seen anything like it.

Apparently, neither had the Olitiau. It shrieked again, and looked directly down at Geralt with flashing eyes. It dived.

"Fuck," he muttered, as it prepared to attack claws first.

He brought his swords up and braced himself. It was fast. And strong. The impact nearly knocked the breath from him.

Geralt dug his heels into the rocky soil and pushed back at the sudden weight. The bloody looking wings flapped wildly, blowing Geralt's hair into his eyes. Just as quickly, the beast took off and soared upwards, using Geralt's blades as leverage. It was enough to knock the witcher over.

That was what the cryptid had been waiting for. Its eyes flashed again.

It changed directions and darted down again. Geralt barely managed to slide the sword up his own body to keep the talons from ripping into him as it landed bodily on his chest.

The claws tightened into his armor, pinning the sword against his side and he felt himself being lifted. The mountainside tilted. He was already too high. Fuck. Geralt slashed blindly anyway with his free blade, pleased to hear a tone of pain in the beast's screech.

Less pleased was he upon his landing. He grunted when he felt something give inside him, followed by a burning in his chest.

The air swirled as it flapped its wings again to dive. Its mistake. Geralt rolled to the side and felt the claws thud into the ground next to him. It screeched furiously, ripping up chunks of rock. The sound made the witcher's head vibrate as he staggered back to his feet, swearing. The Olitiau took flight again.

He fumbled under his armor for one of the bottles he'd stowed there, never taking his eyes off the creature.

There.

Thumbing the cork out, he downed the potion in one go and tossed the bottle down. Fresh energy rushed through the witcher. His face twisted into an ugly smile when the creature came into sharp focus. He could see the veins in the bat like wings.

It dove again, shrieking madly. Geralt blocked the talons with a blade braced against his forearm, while the silver sword came up to slice at the creature's chest.

The rhythm of its attack pattern disrupted, Geralt shoved the Olitiau to the ground where it began thrashing too wildly for Geralt to get close. One wing nicked his face before the demon bat righted itself and was in the air again.

"Fucking hell," he panted, craning his neck back.

The witcher made sure to keep his blade firm against his arm, ready. It looked like he was going to have to chip away at this one.

Once more, the Olitiau darted down. Once more, Geralt was prepared. Another slash. He aimed for the face, but being basically perched on the witcher's arm, it was much too high. He tried to push it down again, but it too was ready and took off before Geralt could knock it off balance.

An idea was starting to form in the witcher's mind. He hated it.

The Olitiau came at him, two inch fangs bared as it screeched. Geralt blocked and slashed. It seemed to be getting angry. Maybe it was disappointed Geralt was putting up a much bigger fuss than its usual supper of bovine.

Footsteps. Geralt turned to see the bard sprinting towards him, daggers in hand. The cryptid flew.

"Look out!" he shouted, pointing.

The witcher looked back to the creature in time to see it yards from him. Something silver streaked through the air and lodged itself into the fleshy area of the creature's leg. It screeched again, and rose up. And kept rising. Geralt dared to breath a sigh of relief, wincing at his side.

"Nice throw. Thought I told you to stay back," Geralt panted, keeping the rising creature in his line of sight. Jaskier spun to face him, uncovering his ears.

Blood streamed around Geralt's black eyes from a cut on his forehead and he seemed to be favoring his right side.

"Melatite's tit, Geralt, you were gone ten minutes and now you're beat to shit. You're _welcome_. Now you get to breathe. I just wish it hadn't flown off with my fucking knife."

"Jaskier…"

"Came as a set, you know," he went on, mournfully. "Lovely young man, the blacksmith that made them"

"Jaskier."

"Little treat for myself, you know, since--"

"Jaskier!"

"What?!"

"Run!"

They ran like hell.

"Back to camp!" Geralt yelled. "Don't stop!"

The demon swooped down again, and again, Geralt's blade rang as he swung to block the sharp talons. Screeched, took to the air again. This pattern was getting tiring.

"Roach!" the bard saw Geralt yell, pointing toward her.

If Jaskier's ears were still filled with a high pitched whine, he could only _imagine_ what was happening in his witcher's head. He stumbled as quickly as he could to unteather Roach and give her a swat on the arse. She took off swiftly.

Jaskier turned to Geralt, looked over his shoulder and nearly screamed again. He settled on pointing and stuttering. The giant bat thing was diving again. Spinning quickly, the witcher lashed out with the sword just in time to clash against the beast's claws. It swooped up again, about fifteen feet.

"Get in the cave!"

"What?!"

_"Get in the cave!"_

Geralt tossed the sword in his left hand to Jaskier. He deftly caught it, dumbfounded.

"ARE YOU MAD? WE'LL BE TRAPPED!"

"The cave or be eaten!" Geralt snarled back, reaching out blindly to shove the bard in that direction. His other hand was fumbling with the loaded crossbow at his hip. "I'll take the cave!"

The bat-thing began to dive again. Geralt brought up the crossbow and glared down the sights as he aimed. Breathed out, fired. The screech it let out left Geralt dizzy. He must have hit it somewhere good. The witcher swore, spun, and was relieved to find Jaskier at his shoulder. He grabbed him and shoved him into the cave. He didn't let go.

A deafening thud shook them to their core as the creature landed hard against the little overhang of rock. Dust and gravel fell. Two large, pointy ears poked down from the top of the opening. Claws curled around the lip of the cave, digging in and breaking off larger chunks of rock. They fell with resounding thuds.

It was crawling in.

"Oh, shit, _shit!"_ Jaskier shuddered, clutching Geralt's wrist. "I'm going to die in a fucking cave!"

"It's okay, it's okay. It can't fly in here. No more diving," Geralt prised himself out of Jaskier's grip and held out his hand. "Sword."

Wordlessly, the bard passed it over, eyes wide in the dark.

The thing screeched again, this time the reverberations in the small space were nearly too much for Geralt. He had not thought of that.

He fell to one knee, shaking his head.

Without thinking, barely able to see, Jaskier jumped forward, snatching the silver sword from Geralt's hand and stabbed wildly upwards at the thing's head. He must have found his mark.

The beast reared up and out of the cave, shrieking. Only to swing back in, clawing at the edges of the rock. The ground trembled hard enough that the bard fell.

The sword was yanked from his hand and with a roar, Geralt struck while the creature was distracted. The blade found purchase somewhere vital, because there was another gods awful screech that brought them both to their knees, hands clapped to their ears.

The bard didn't realize he closed his eyes until felt himself pulled back by the neck of his shirt. He scrambled up, content to follow. There was another tremble through the floor, then ringing, deafening, almost painful silence. They both froze for a few moments.

"Is it over?" Jaskier asked, his voice much too loud.

Geralt winced and waved him off, but realized the bard probably couldn't see the motion.

"Seems like it."

"Could you, you know, light? Please?"

Geralt sheathed a sword and created a little ball of fire in the palm of his hand. The warm light was so welcome, Jaskier could have cried.

The witcher stalked toward the hulking corpse, sword raised. Jaskier, ever curious, followed.

Geralt poked it with the tip of the weapon.

And it shrieked in his face. It reared up suddenly, striking the roof of the cave, clawing at the walls as it tried to attack again.

The witcher let the fire in his hand loose in a blast that shoved the creature back, but it was dead before its flaming body hit the floor.

The damage, however, was already done. Geralt turned, stumbling. In the dim fire light, Jaskier saw something dark trailing from the witcher's ears. Dust fell from the ceiling. There was a crack that Geralt didn't seem to react to.

Suddenly, Jaskier was in motion. He darted forward, screaming something he later never remembered and shoved Geralt as hard as he could, further back into the cave.

He was too slow, legs like lead. Too slow. Too slow. Too slow.

There was a sudden crushing pain, he hit the ground hard, and then, nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

Part two:

For half a moment, Geralt wondered, as he came to, what sort of horse piss, backwater, bathtub moonshine he'd been drinking the night before to have a hangover of such miserable proportions in the morning and promptly vowed never again.

There were soft, gentle fingers at the base of his throat. And weight on his chest. He could feel the weight breathing silently.

Oh. Had he had company last night?

As he slowly regained his wits, he realized the fingers were pressed intently against the artery in his neck, as if checking his pulse. The sharp, throbbing pain in the back of his head made it hard to think.

Goddess, he could use some water now. And what the hell was this mattress made out of? Rocks?

It actually was rock. It was a stone floor. It was _so_ silent.

Wait.

Everything came rushing back. The Olitiau. Jaskier running at him and shoving him. Darkness.

He wrenched his eyes open.

It was too bright in here. Or too dark? Fuck, he didn't know. He rubbed his eyes and tried again. There was something wrong with them. He fought to keep them open, heart pounding.

" _Fuck,_ " he gasped, squinting.

The weight on his chest startled badly, strained his ribs. Geralt jumped too and looked down through cracked eyelids. Blonde hair. Jaskier. Heartbeat. Alive.

Bloody, but alive.

Angry, too, by the look on his face. Geralt wondered how long they'd been out cold.

Geralt lowered his head back to the ground, relieved. His eyes closed again and he reveled at the amount of pain he was in. He didn't realize he'd put an arm around the bard until he felt tapping on his shoulder. It was still so quiet.

 _Why_ was it so quiet? His yellow eyes opened, wincing again at the uneven light levels.

The tapping continued. Geralt looked down. It stopped. Jaskier's lips were moving rapidly. Resigned realization hit him. The memory of being three feet away from the source of the high pitched screech was enough to make him twitch.

"Jaskier!" he cut him off, his voice too loud. The bard flinched. He tried softer. "Sorry. Jaskier. I can't hear you."

 _"Fuck,"_ the bard's trembling lips clearly formed the word. Geralt would have to focus.

"Start over, slowly," Geralt was still a little too loud.

Jaskier lowered his head to Geralt's chest and the witcher felt him shudder violently. When his head came back up, his mouth formed the words, _"My legs are trapped"_. It nearly made the witcher's heart stop.

"You're trapped?" He repeated, just to make sure.

He was rewarded with a relieved nod and a hand pointing to his legs behind him, aware that Geralt could see, while he could not. He didn't want to see anyway. He could feel his legs below the knees where they disappeared into the rubble.

"Okay. All right."

Geralt immediately began to shift under Jaskier. He had to get up now. There were hands clutching his armor, stilling him. The witcher squinted down to see cold sweat and tears on the human's face. He was saying something through gritted teeth.

He tapped Jaskier to get his attention.

"Again."

"Go slow," Jaskier said clearly.

He put his hands on the ground and braced himself, pushing up so Geralt could shimmy out. In turn, Geralt helped him lower himself back to the ground. He shoved himself up and sat against the wall. He'd have to do something about that light.

"Okay," Geralt said again, after they'd caught their breath the best they could.

He reached under his armor and could tell his bottles were broken. He tossed the pieces away after examination, sighed and got to work. He relayed the information to the bard. It seemed they only had themselves and their swords in the way of supplies.

It felt like forever before Jaskier was able to wiggle free. With an alarming grunt of _"Now!"_ , the rubble shifted and the bard dragged himself out by his elbows until he heard the rocks settling back down.

He couldn't feel his feet. They _moved_ , yes, and he could feel his legs moving too, but he couldn't feel his _feet_.

Jaskier only allowed himself a moment to breathe before he rolled onto his back and shoved himself up to sit against the wall. He went to fumble around for the damage, mad with the thought that, oh--

His feet were still there and attached, thank goodness.

A dim light appeared in the palm of Geralt's hand. Just enough to see by. He nodded his thanks, panic melting from his shoulders.

His trousers were in tatters, sticky with blood, and one ankle looked swollen through his boot. It looked bad. It was odd how it didn't hurt at all. He stared down at the injuries, twitching his feet to make sure they still worked until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

He gasped.

In the light, the witcher was a wreck. The soft orange glow of the fireball couldn't touch the pale of his skin. What little skin wasn't covered with blood, anyway. His fingers trembled from holding the Igni sign so gently. However, what scared Jaskier was his one black eye and one gold eye. The pupil of his left was blown out and wide.

"Geralt of Rivia, you put that light out and sit down at once," he snapped, surprising himself.

Guilt struck him when Geralt shook his head wearily and pointed at his mouth. Jaskier nodded again and motioned him down. Geralt obliged.

When the witcher was sat next to him, Jaskier hesitantly reached out with both hands and closed his friend's shaking fingers around the little fireball, extinguishing it. Geralt let out a soft sigh of relief and closed his eyes for a moment.

Neither of them moved until Jaskier felt an uncomfortable prickle starting in his toes.

Oh, well, that was good. That meant he still had circulation.

The relief was short lived and he had just enough time to entertain the invasive thought of living without his legs before the feeling spread up to his knees, all white hot pins and needles.

He gasped, squirming.

Geralt twitched and was crouched instantly, ready for action if not for the newly acquired swaying he'd picked up. His mismatched eyes darted around the area for signs of danger.

Jaskier dug his fingers into his thighs to keep from yelling. His eyes started watering. He couldn't stop moving.

And, oh, by the goddess, moving made it _so_ much worse. The pain vibrated up his legs. It made him squirm more. The bard grit his teeth with a strangled curse as his ankle began to throb and his abrasions burn.

 _"Okay, it'll pass. You have circulation, this will pass,"_ he said to himself out loud. _"Just like sitting on your feet too long. It'll pass."_

Anything to take his mind off the painful itch under his skin. He squeezed his thighs a little tighter. Oh, hell, was he crying? No, crying wasn't the right word, but still, tears streaked their way down his filthy cheeks as he was overcome.

"Wha's it? Wha's happening?" Geralt slurred, touching his friend's shoulder. He shook his head and blinked. Tried again. Focused so hard on his friend his eyes nearly crossed. "Jaskier, what is it?"

"Just. Regaining. Circulation. In my legs," the bard forced out, making sure to enunciate each word. He damn near bit his tongue off. The bard pointed to his heart and then to the mangled appendages. "Are you. Slurring?"

He quickly motioned drinking in case 'slurring' was an odd word to figure out. Jaskier wished he could see. He didn't know where their things were in this mess.

There was a torch... he reached out absently, as if to see if they were next to him and was instead met with Geralt's warm, rough hand as if he'd been waiting. He squeezed it tight when another wave of needles rippled through him. Geralt squeezed back.

"Hit m' head when we landed. Prolly concussed," Geralt mumbled, touching a spot on the back of his head. There was indeed a lump under his wet, tangled hair.

Jaskier turned his head towards the witcher's voice. He unclenched his other hand from his thigh to wipe his damp face.

"I didn't mean to shove you so hard. I-- panicked. I thought I was too late. Didn't mean to hurt you. I'm sorry," he sniffed, being sure to keep from gritting his teeth.

Geralt's jaw dropped. Was Jaskier apologizing... for saving his life..?

There was silence for a moment and again, Jaskier desperately wished he could see. He could feel his face flushing and wanted to look away. The pins and needles were beginning to recede slightly.

"Jask… if you said what I think you said, 'll smack you. I didn't hear the rocks coming down. I didn't hear anything. Still can't. You saved my life. _Thank you._ "

Just like that, Geralt let the statement hang in the dark. It rocked Jaskier for the witcher to be so blatantly grateful, no matter the situation. He must of cracked his head pretty hard. The human must have looked confused in the dark.

"Jaskier?"

"Uh, ahem, yeah, I guess I did."

"You did."

Jaskier heaved a sigh. Unable to think of a poetic response, he settled for squeezing Geralt's hand again.

The pain from his ankle was more bothersome now than the pins and needle feeling. He couldn't stop himself from wiggling his toes.

"We need to get out of here, my dear witcher," he said. "Poor Roach must be worried sick. Do you have any ideas?"

From the dark, the bard heard:

"I think so, but you're going to hate it. I already hate it."


	3. Chapter 3

Part Three:

It was with great difficulty that the pair both managed to get to their feet. Geralt supported his friend with one arm around his waist, and the bard's arm slung over his shoulder so he could keep as much weight off his ankle as he could.

The plan? Wander the damned cave until they found a way out. Geralt informed the bard he'd seen the Olitiau rising from their very same mountain.

He'd been right though.

Jaskier hated this plan. And he was right to hate it. Especially when they came to the first turn in their little tunnel and they stopped abruptly. He tapped Geralt and mouthed _"What?"_

The witcher didn't answer, but let go of the arm around his shoulder and formed another little fireball in his hand, illuminating a skeletal form laying on the floor. Jaskier yelped and tried to jump back, but the witcher's arm around his waist didn't budge. He merely grunted with the sudden movement.

The panic subsided as he realized it was an _actual_ dead skeleton and he desperately wanted to chew Geralt out for the unnecessary scare.

"There's your cow," Geralt stated, looking at the bard.

Oh, good. The blown out pupil was a sliver smaller, a thin ring of gold shone around black in the fire light. Jaskier decided not to comment, choosing instead to tease the witcher.

"More like _'there's your sign of life'_. Thats maybe twenty feet away from camp. How did you not smell that?"

The ghost of an amused smile.

"Well, they're bones… so… no."

Jaskier snorted. Fair, he supposed. The light wavered and he closed a hand over the witcher's to extinguish it.

Geralt led them around the skeleton.

The tunnel just seemed to go on. They pushed themselves hard, limping along for what felt like forever.

Something clearly had dug it out. The walls seemed unnaturally uniform, Geralt noticed as they went on.

The ringing silence persisted in his ears. It made his head feel like it was stuffed full of too much cotton. It unnerved him. Made him dizzy.

Something _made_ these tunnels. Something dug them out.

And being that there were no tracks or carts or wagons, and no obvious toolmarks from mining, Geralt surmised that the _something_ was big. He hoped it'd been the Olitiau.

It was too bad he couldn't hear a damn thing. He set his shoulders. His face was pulled down in a grimace.

Tapping on his chest. Startled, Geralt looked down to focus on Jaskier's mouth.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

"Hmm?"

" _What. Are. You. Thinking?_ I can almost feel you frowning," Jaskier chuckled nervously.

"Uh," the witcher started, indeed frowning.

"Uh oh."

"I think something made these tunnels. They're too… uniform. And there's no tool marks. I'm hoping it was just the Olitiau."

"You-- what? The monster--?" Something pinged in Jaskier's mind.

"Maybe… just… let me know if you, uh, hear anything."

His nonexistent sight went white around the edges. He stumbled.

"Yep. There it is. Oh, goddess. Trapped in the dark. Rock gouging monster. Dead cows. Maybe another monster. Ooh, fuck. I was keeping it together so well, too. I mean, sort of. Kind of. Oh, hell, I can't breathe. Can't breathe, can't walk, can't fucking _see_ , you can't hear… oooh, fuck."

Geralt felt the bard shudder against him. Jaskier leaned forward, nearly limp, gasping. He saw his lips moving quickly, endlessly and understanding none of it. His eyes were wide and blank as the words streamed from him, clenching and unclenching his free hand. Subtly, Geralt touched the wrist hanging at his shoulder and was unsurprised to find a racing pulse.

"Jask…"

Big, heaving breath. And another.

"Jaskier!"

The bard looked up, and mouthed " _down_ " at his friend, eyes wild, unseeing and pleading.

As quick as he could, Geralt lowered them to the floor. He sat next to Jaskier, who'd pulled up his stiff legs and wrapped his arms around them. He was gulping at the air like a man dying in the desert when he's found water.

It was a panic attack, Geralt realized. The bard was having a panic attack.

He circled an arm around his shoulder and tucked the human tight against his side and took a deep breath, ignoring the stab of pain in his ribs with each one. He held it to make his point and released it in what he hoped was a loud whoosh. He did it again. And again. Until he felt lightheaded, but knew Jaskier was trying to mimic his rhythm. Good.

Less good was the blank, feral look on his face as he strained to see in the dark. They really needed to remedy this lighting situation.

The witcher noticed the breathing next to him begin to get erratic again.

He took another deep breath, jostling the bard into taking another, slower.

Tightening his jaw, Geralt gently formed the Igni sign. It took so much more energy to hold it calmly than it did to just let it out in a blast.

"We're okay, we're okay," the bard's lips formed the words repeatedly between their deep breaths.

"We're okay," Geralt agreed, woozy.

A wave of dizziness swept over the witcher and his vision tunneled. He had to balance himself with his other hand when the ground seemed to tilt. Jaskier felt his movement.

"Geralt?" He asked, jerked out of his own head.

"Fuck, sorry if this scares you too. I'm..."

The tunnel went dark. And Geralt promptly slumped against the bard. Jaskier nearly collapsed under the extra weight of armor.


	4. Chapter 4

Part Four:

 _"Geralt!"_ he cried, one hand braced him up, while the other hand scrabbled at the neck of his armor until--

_'Oh, please, please.'_

There. The bard nearly wept when he found the strong pulse.

Jaskier reached up and tapped his companion's cheek gently.

"Come on, dear witcher, this is no time for a nap," he chided, tapping a little harder when there was no response.

Finally, he stirred. He waited, but when he heard the confused 'hmm?' Jaskier sent a silent 'thank you' to whatever god or goddess had been listening. He took Geralt's face and pointed it at him. He felt the witcher's panting breaths.

"What was that? What happened?"

"Wh… what?"

"What. The hell. Was that? Where. Are. You. Hurt?" He demanded.

Oh.

"Ribs are busted. Too much. 'M okay. Jus'… gimme a minute."

He let go of his friend and helped Geralt sit up straight with a groan.

"By the goddess, we are fucked up," Jaskier chuckled, wide-eyed again.

He was still shaking with adrenaline and could feel his friend looking at him. Felt him shifting as he tried to massage his side through the armor.

"We have to keep going though," Geralt said.

He rubbed his eyes, then his temples and then back behind his ears. He thought the stuffy silence in his head was starting to shift into a high pitched whine again. It made him nauseous.

The bard nodded , closing his eyes. The witcher stood slowly, groaning, before reaching for Jaskier's wrist. When he squeezed back, Geralt hauled him gently to his feet and against his side.

At Jaskier's nod, they set off again.

* * *

On they trudged, relying solely on Geralt's uneven night vision.

If there were any more cow skeletons, Jaskier didn't see them. He had long since scrunched his eyes closed, and upon the witcher's questioning, the bard's reason had been that he couldn't see anything anyway, why not try heightening his sense of hearing? He trusted Geralt to lead him around any obstacles. At some point they walked through something intensely crunchy and Geralt let out a disgusted huff.

His ankle throbbed, knees burned, as they made their way. Every now and then, Geralt would pause and Jaskier would hear him sniff at the air. He was too tired to ask questions, but he had an idea of what the witcher was doing.

Soon, the bard could tell for himself that they were following the direction of fresh air. His heart began to pound when he first caught a whiff of it.

In his haste, Jaskier stumbled over an uneven portion of the ground, lost his footing, and nearly dragged them both down. When his knees grazed against the ground, he saw white behind his closed eyelids. He was hauled back with a strangled groan. Geralt coughed with the exertion, but they stayed up.

The witcher leaned them against the wall of the tunnel and unwound his arms from the bard so he could rub his eyes again.

Something rumbled, low and loud.

Several things happened at once.

"Geralt!" Jaskier gasped. He turned his neck so quickly, he almost headbutt the witcher in the face. Geralt barely had time to flinch back. "Did you hear-- urg!"

Frantically, the bard pointed at his own ears. Before his lips started moving again, a hand fell over his mouth, gently silencing him. The witcher pressed his broad body over the bard's as a shield (Jaskier would later make him pay for it) and put a hand to the rock. They stayed frozen like that. Jaskier could _feel_ Geralt's eyes burning into him as they strained their ears. He couldn't hear anything else except his racing pulse. Jaskier shook his head.

"Felt it," Geralt whispered loudly, making the human wince. "Through the rock. Any more?"*

Jaskier shook his head against the witcher's hand and it was gone. There was a soft scrape the bard immediately recognized as a sword leaving its sheath. The arm around his waist returned, but he slung his own arm around to grip witcher's shoulder plate like a handle.

 _"What was that?"_ he mouthed silently.

Leather creaked as Jaskier felt the broad shoulders shrug and a finger on his lips, effectively telling him "I don't know, but no more noise". He nodded.

They resumed their brisk pace.

Jaskier shivered as the rumble came again.

 _"It was quieter,"_ he announced silently, after tapping the witcher on the shoulder. He felt Geralt nod.

Geralt thought he was hallucinating the little flashes of light. His brain could be leaking out of his ears as they walked and Geralt wouldn't be surprised. Until he nudged Jaskier and loudly whispered to him to open his eyes.

"What?"

"Watch for a minute, I want to make sure my brain isn't bleeding or something," he mumbled, keeping them moving.

"Wh-- Okay, uh, what am I looking for?"

As if in direct response to the question, there was a bright flash, followed by a loud crack that made Jaskier shriek a creative curse.

Geralt panicked, thinking the bard suddenly dissolved into sobs by the way his hunched shoulders were shaking and the smell of salt. Unsure, he drew the human to his chest.

And as Jaskier turned to face Geralt, it was then he realized the son of a bitch was _laughing_. Full on belly laughing.

"Thunderstorm! Fucking hell, it's a thunderstorm, Geralt!"

He tugged at his friend's arm, urging him forward before the words could fully process. They were very nearly out of this pit of despair. Maybe even minutes away from Roach and what was left of their supplies. Definitely hours from a proper healer, but they could definitely make due.**

* * *

It was indeed raining when they finally got to the opening that Geralt had seen the Olitiau leaving. The storm had finally broken and sheets of water fell from the sky. The lightening flashed again, making them flinch at the brightness, but the long, low thunderous rumble was comforting.

It was fucking beautiful.

Jaskier let out a strangled laugh, eyes feasting on the sight of the pelting water bouncing off rocks and leaves. It was almost too bright for him after so long in the dark. He dragged them a few steps out of the cave, let go of Geralt, hopped a few steps and then let himself fall to the ground as gracefully as he could.

The bard rolled over and let it wash over him. He opened his mouth and the rain was almost sinfully sweet on his dry tongue. He shivered.

As an afterthought, Jaskier quickly flashed an "OK!" sign to Geralt with his hand before his friend worried. He was soaked in a few minutes and it was going to hurt more getting up than it had getting down, but oh, he was so happy to be under the open sky again he could sing.

After a bit longer, after washing some of the grime away from his face and hair, and a little from his bloody legs. After some of the gore was washed away, they didn't look nearly as bad as they did at the beginning of the ordeal. His ankle and knees were well and truly fucked, but the calf high boots had done a good job protecting most of his skin. Jaskier sat up, grinning. Geralt was watching him from the mouth of the cave, arms crossed, amused.

_Fond._

"This feels amazing, come on," the bard motioned him forward.

"No way, bard, you wanted a shower, take it," an honest smile from Geralt of Rivia. It was exhausted, but genuine.

Jaskier gestured again insistently. This time, the witcher shook his head and wobbled his way over to the bard, sitting heavily next to him.

He tilted his face to the sky, closed his eyes and let it soak him. Geralt stuck his tongue out as well. The cool water felt wonderful. It was a shame he couldn't hear it.

Something soft rubbed at the side of his face. Geralt squinted an eye open to see Jaskier, a bloody sleeve covering his hand. He dragged the fabric down the witcher's cheek, wiping away more grime. Carefully, he swiped his other sleeve, a little cleaner, around the cut on Geralt's forehead. Before the witcher closed his eyes and melted into the touch, Jaskier was pleased to note the gold ring around his left pupil was thicker, less lopsided. Still uneven, but his right pupil was reacting decidedly normal.

The bloody knot of white hair on the back of the witcher's head worried him. His fingers barely brushed the lump when he tried to check it closer, but Geralt gently batted his hands away.

"Roach?" Jaskier asked, after they were mostly washed.

His friend stood with a pained grunt and offered Jaskier a hand. He accepted and was pulled to his feet. They hobbled back out of the rain, refreshed. Not quite laughing, but pleased huff's between turns of sticking their faces back out of the cave with their tongues sticking out.

The witcher placed his still grimy fingers in his mouth, took a deep breath that made him wince and let out a shrill whistle.

There was an odd spray of warm wetness that hit Jaskier's face and neck, a shocking temperature difference from the cold of the rain.

They both froze.

Jaskier wiped it off and looked at his hand, dawning horror. He looked up at the same time Geralt was staring dizzily up at the bard. Red dripped from the hand at his mouth.***

Hoofbeats in the distance. Jaskier could have wept. 

"Swallow is..." Geralt tried to choke out, swaying dangerously. He fought for breath. Fresh blood tricked from his lips.

"Is blue," finished Jaskier, dashing to his side before he collapsed and hurt himself. The best he achieved was a controlled fall where they both landed on their asses. 

Geralt nodded, grimaced, and went slack against the bard, eyes closed.

* * *

** it was here I decided to cut our boys a break.

* and here, when I decided that Geralt is an Earthbender, apparently. I bet he would be.

*** and _here_ is where I decided, no, they dont get a break.


	5. Chapter 5

Part Five:

* * *

Note: I live off them comments and kudos. I love you guys, too.

* * *

Roach pulled up and stopped short with a whinny. Instantly, Jaskier was on his feet, before carefully laying the witcher down. He staggered over, brain first, before his ankle went out from under him.

The mare lowered her head and snuffled at Jaskier's wet hair. He had to crawl to grab a stirrup to pull himself back up, but he made it and Roach stood still to let him use her as a perch.

"G-good girl, Roach. Sweet, sweet baby," he murmured, shifting towards her back end.

The bard rooted through the saddlebags with shaking hands, pulling out half a dozen different colored bottle until finally, he found a little bottle in his palm, full of blue liquid.

Jaskier hopped back to Geralt, collapsing at his side, crying out when he landed, panting. His fingers trembled so hard he could barely pull the cork out of the bottle.

"Geralt," the bard said, momentarily forgetting he couldn't hear him. Right.

He tapped him on the cheek, unnerved by the lack of response. He still had a pulse.

"Okay, Jask… You've seen him do this a million times. You can do this," he said to himself.

Carefully, Jaskier tilted the witcher's head back and trickled about half the contents in his mouth. Bless him, Geralt swallowed reflexively. If he remembered correctly, he'd seen Geralt pour some of the contents on the wound a few times.

The effect was both instant and slow. Jaskier didn't even know that was a thing. Geralt's eyelashes fluttered, but there was no other movement.

"Come on, darling, sit up," he said, tapping him on the chest.

 _That_ did it. Geralt wrenched his eyes open with a panicked gasp, zeroing in on Jaskier's lips. The intensity of which he stared made the bard's own breath catch in his throat. He forced himself to remain calm by wiping away some of the blood on Geralt's chin.

"Can you sit up?" He asked, slowly.

Just as slowly, the witcher nodded with a wince as bones began to reattach inside his chest. They'd been broken then, not merely fractured. As if the blood fountain hadn't confirmed a punctured lung...

"Good, good. Come on," Jaskier nodded.

When he had some space between the ground and Geralt's back, he slid an arm around him and helped push him upright. He swayed dangerously, still focusing dazedly on Jaskier's lips.

"I want to look at that head wound," Jaskier ordered, pointing to his own skull.

With a sigh, Geralt leaned forward until the back of his head was exposed. Nimble fingers quickly separated the bloody knot of hair and before he could do what he thought he was going to do, the witcher spoke.

"Wait."

It was a breathy, dizzy sound, but it was enough to halt Jaskier in his movements. He'd never heard that tone before. And with his head down, Jaskier couldn't ask what was wrong. It didn't matter, because Geralt knew the question.

"Save a few drops of that," he panted from between his knees. "Please."

"Oh my god, _'please'_? When do you say _please?'_ Oh, fuck, it didn't work, did it? Shit, are you dying? Please don't die. We fought a giant bat, survived a cave in, stumbled around blind in said cave, tromped through what I'm sure was a floor of bones and now you're going to die out here--

"Jaskier," Geralt tried to break into the bard's thoughts. The bard had gone absolutley still at some point, radiating tension. The hand resting on the back of his neck trembled. He'd looked up in time to see his friend's lips moving rapidly again. The human looked down with shining eyes.

Shit. The witcher was so confused.

Geralt simply held out his arms and Jaskier broke down in actual sobs as he melted into the strong embrace. He buried his face into the crook of his neck. If the witcher was offering a _hug,_ then…

"You can't die!" the bard howled next to his ear.

Faintly, Geralt could hear his friend's voice. He almost smiled, had it not been for the content that dragged his face into a frown.

Die? Who the hell was dying?

"Hey, hey, it's okay, I--"

"No, it's not okay!" the younger man wailed.

"Jaskier! What the hell is happening here? Wh--"

"The potion didn't work, did it? You're still bleeding inside, aren't you?"

The bard dissolved into fresh sobs against Geralt without waiting for an answer. This was all rather dramatic.

Bemused, assuming he was missing something the bard would eventually explain, the witcher just held his friend and patted his back. Better to let him get it all out, Geralt supposed. Pent up stress came out in odd ways sometimes.

Jaskier didn't even notice him pluck the bottle of Swallow out of his hand and put a drop in each ear. He hissed when his eardrums began to crackle unpleasantly as the potion started working.

When the popping began to subside somewhat, he decided he better do some damage control.

"Jask… Jask, come on, no one's dying. Look at me. Look at you. We're out of the tunnel, the monster's dead, I was kind of hoping you hadn't noticed the boneyard, but-- Look, just-- Take a deep breath for me, okay? Everything is fine."

With a great sniffle, Jaskier lifted his head to look at his witcher. He was surprised to see the little bottle dangling between Geralt's fingers.

"W-what? You're okay?"

"Yes. Well, I mean, no, we're pretty banged up, but no one's _dying_. I'm still woozy, but I just needed a few drops for my ears. What on earth sent you spinning to the conclusion that someone was dying?"

Jaskiers face flushed scarlet, suddenly mortified.

"You were being so _nice_ and _polite_."

It was Geralt's turn to blush.

'Nice' and 'polite' weren't words he'd chose to describe himself, but he didn't think he was a _total_ barbarian. Nevertheless, a warmth radiated in his chest, unrelated to his broken ribs, and he let out a gravelly chuckle that surprised them both. 

"Oh, for fuck sake, you're embarrassing Roach," he grunted awkwardly, giving the bard another squeeze.

" _You're_ embarrassing Roach," Jaskier countered, like a mature adult.

Roach just huffed, tossing her head dismissively.

"Come on, let's get this over with," with another embarrassed sniff, Jaskier was suddenly mostly all business again, snatching the Swallow back and gently tipping Geralt's forehead onto his shoulder.

At the witcher's slight nod, Jaskier trickled the last of the potion along the nasty looking gash. He couldn't help but feel guilty when Geralt shuddered against him as the wound slowly began to knit over.

"Your turn," the witcher said, when the shivering subsided.

As if waiting for acknowledgement, Jaskiers injuries flared to life again.

"Yeah, okay," he agreed.

Wrapping an arm around his waist, Geralt easily picked up and perched the bard on a flattish rock while he got to his own feet. He went over to Roach, who lowered her head and nickered at him.

"Hey, girl," he whispered to her.

The mare shoved him in the chest hard enough to make his newly mended bones twinge, but he huffed a laugh when she sniffled through his hair.

"Good girl, we're okay. Thanks for waiting, for us," he stroked her neck as he made his way to the saddle bags.

He rooted through them, pulling out everything he thought he'd need.

"I don't suppose you want to come in out of the rain?" The witcher asked her.

Roach suddenly turned and deadpanned him, snorting, ears pinned back.

Behind him, he heard Jaskier laughing faintly. It was musical.

"I think that's a 'no', dear witcher. Maybe even a 'fuck you'. My word, what a smart girl you are, Roachie!" He called.

Geralt rolled his eyes.

"Fine," he told her, smiling. "We'll be over there."

She huffed in response and nodded towards Jaskier.

"I'm gonna give her all the treats when we get back," the bard promised when Geralt was knelt next to him again.

"Don't spoil her," Geralt said absently. He passed up a little white vial. "Poppy extract. Small sips. Tiny sips. Two tiny sips."

It was the only potion human safe he had, but the dosage was brewed for a witcher. It might make him a bit loopy, but he didn't want the bard unconcious. Geralt was looking at Jaskier's ankle. Obviously sprained, maybe broken. It was swollen through the brown boot and very firmly not budging off his foot.

"We're probably going to have to cut it off," the witcher said, rolling the leather down as far as he could. He did the same to the other and lifted the shredded fabric of his trousers.

"Alas," he said leaning back and placing the back of his hand delicately to his forehead, then looked up sharply. "Wait, you meant the boot, right?"

"Yes, Jaskier, the boot," Geralt replied. "You-- Hey! Dammit, you better sit up on your own when we get you on Roach!"

The witcher snatched the poppy extract back, but not before Jaskier got in a third tiny sip.

Melitile, help him, Jaskier loopy on painkillers for the whole trip back. (He took a shot himself.)

Geralt made quick work of cleaning and wrapping the bard's wounded legs. They (Jaskier) decided to leave the boot on until they got back to town.

"Come on, let's get out of here."

By the time the witcher had his friend on Roach's back, he was feeling pleasantly fuzzy.

He clicked his tongue and tugged the reins. The mare followed obediently.

Jaskier was not quite hammered, but he leaned over the horse's neck to carry on his conversation with her about treats. Roach looked to Geralt, as if you say "you better remind him of these treats later". He would.

They made good time down the mountain. Once on grassier terrain, Geralt climbed onto Roach to finish the ride. The glow of the town beckoned to them as the sky started to lighten.

"Oh, my god, it's morning? I didn't even realize," Jaskier mumbled, leaning his head back.

"We'll get situated and then sleep all day," Geralt promised.

* * *

When they finally got back to the inn, Geralt handed Roach's reins to the young man who worked in the stables. He slipped from the saddle and lifted Jaskier down with him.

"Spoil her! She's just the best horse ever!" Jaskier sang, petting her neck. "Pretty girlie."

Geralt rolled his eyes at the theatrics, but tipped the stable hand with a nod, to confirm, 'yes, spoil the hell out of her'.

"I'll come down later, Roach," he assured her.

The witcher grabbed their bags and slung them over his shoulder with a grunt. He wrapped an arm around Jaskier's waist.

"Ready?"

"Yeah."

They limped their way into the inn. The common room was just starting bustle with preparations for breakfast. A few bleary-eyed customers already sat waiting. The pair made it to the counter. Jaskier was smiling widely at one of the girls in the back, cooking bacon. She ignored him.

"Hi, uh, breakfast and baths for two, please?" Geralt asked, when the innkeeper came to the counter.

The old woman looked them up and down, eyebrows raised. Her long, white braid hung over her shoulder with strands coming loose in her wrinkled face.

"Rough night, witcher?" she asked, almost amused.

She'd seen her fair share of monster hunters in her long life working her inn. They came, stayed, left. They either came back, or they didn't. If they came back standing, they were usually fine. Hell, the man the witcher was with looked rough, but even he seemed hardy, if not a little out of it.

She decidedly liked these two. Beat to hell or not, she bet they were a lively pair.

Geralt couldn't help the chuckle.

"Yeah, rough night. We got it. Wouldn't have made it without Jaskier, here."

"Good. Head on up, room six. Third on the left. I'll get Tabantha to start heating the water. Leave your bags, she'll bring them up. You have your hands full. Thomas will be up with some food."

She rummaged under the counter, pulled out a skeleton key and slid it across the wood.

"Thank you," Geralt said, grateful, pocketing the key and putting the saddlebags down.

"You monster hunters have a tough path, who am I to make it more difficult?" she shrugged. Then noticed the lute case. "And musicians too, apparently."

"Not all musicians, just this one," Geralt chuckled.

He tugged Jaskier, who was still making eyes at the pretty chef in the back, away from the counter. The innkeeper rolled her eyes now.

"Come on, Jaskier," he said, he glanced back up at the innkeeper. "Thank you."

The bard followed without too much resistance. When they got to the stairs in the corner of the common room, Geralt made a quick decision to sweep his friend off his feet (much to his surprise) and simply carried him up.

* * *

The food was delicious.

The boot was lost, but the scalding hot bath more than made up for it, according to Jaskier.

The knot in Geralt's hair, free of blood now, loosened and unravelled. The shampoo and conditioner Jaskier insisted upon made it smooth like liquid silver.

They finished washing and simply relaxed, letting the heat seep into them.

It turned out the innkeeper, Annabelle, they learned, was a little more complex than she looked.

They tended to their wounds again when they got out of their tubs, wrinkled and clean. Annabelle wrapped Jaskier's ankle expertly, and dosed him again with a more human friendly poppy extract. Her lovely staff quickly emptied and removed the tubs.

When pressed, she'd simply laughed at Geralt, eyed him sharply and said she'd been around a while and knew how to get things done. Then she made Geralt sit his ass down while she checked him over too.

Then, blessedly, it was time for sleep.

Geralt helped get Jaskier settled on the bed, then crossed the room to shutter the window against the risen sun flooding the room.

"How are you feeling?" Geralt asked, settling down on the bed himself. The bard's eyes were already closed, but he was still awake.

"Better. Tired. I like Annabelle. Bet she could beat you in a fight."

Geralt snorted, getting comfortable. An arm snaked around the witcher's waist as he pulled the blankets over them.

"I'll try not to upset her then," he murmured, eyelids already heavy. The mattress was so soft and the bard fit against him perfectly.

Jaskier's heartbeat was already evening out. Geralt thought again how amazing the sound was. How lucky he was, in more ways than one.

"Hey, Geralt?"

"Hmm?" came a sleepy grunt. "You're supposed to be asleep."

"Can we go back tomorrow and see if we can find my knife?"

Geralt nearly choked.

"Absolutely not."

There was a blessed moment of silence. Then, in a sleepy sigh, Jaskier said:

"It's a shame, really. Came as a set, you know."

Geralt's head snapped around, but Jaskier's eyes were closed by the time he was in his sights. There was a mischievous quirk on his lips in the dark and the witcher was torn between laughing and smothering the bard with a pillow.

"Go to sleep, Jask."

Feral bastard.

* * *

Note: I can't promise anything, but ive been thinking of maybe a little nightmare fluff, as a treat? Anyone? 


End file.
